Assumption pt3
by fl0aty
Summary: the next chapter of the saga of the short, brutal life of Walter Sullivan. herein? 04, 0521...and 0621 pt.1


b04/21,05/21/bbr Walter had been working up at Albert Sports for a few months now.  
He'd been crashing at a friend's house at the time; his life had been looking up a bit. In a moment of rare lucidity he had cleaned himself up and applied for the job; gotten it.br He was homeless again now, of course, but he made it his business to make it in to work religiously. He was a hard worker. Mr.Albert had been slowly but surely docking his pay knowing Walter was in no position socially to argue about it; some weeks he'd 'forget' to bring the money and Walter'd have to accept an IOU on his boss's alleged good graces; he was already working for below minimum wage. After work Walter would often go below and sit with Steve Garland, the old man who ran the pet shop; Walter liked animals very much. He also knew the old man liked company as he got drunk at night and, altho Walter himself did not drink he liked to talk; he knew so few people. br Besides, if he could 'outlast' Mr.Garland, that is, sit there until the old man passed out drunk in his chair Walter was able to enter the store. he'd pet a few pets, and then stretch out in one of the big dog kennels for a few hours sleep someplace more comfortable than his nest in the subway tunnels.br

After Walter's latest kill he had something more than just the hearts of his victims to worry about; the two boys he had killed had stolen an iguana earlier from Mr.Garland's store. br If he hurried, Walter hoped, he could get the lizard back in its cage and maybe, just maybe Mr.Garland would be none the wiser. The lizard's theft was not technically Walter's fault but then, in a way it was; if old Mr.Garland had no one to sit with when he drank he didn't always get ias/i drunk. The boy had said Garland had been hung over. and perhaps in his panic at the realization that he had done it again! Walter felt some sort of need to put isomething/i right to make amends for all this evil.  
P There'd been a gun show a few months back. Walter remembered it; it was down near Silent Hill. Garland had been all hopped up for it and, wanting company, had had Walter tag along; as Walter rarely got out of Ashfield anymore it was nice to go out for a ride. For some reason the old man had become obsessed with an old WW2 machine gun; it was a piece of junk that barely fired anymore but he HAD to have it. as if he wasn't already barely breaking even selling pet supplies, and pissing away his money on beer...he had to have this hoary old war toy. br Walter'd found it funny at the time; what a wacky thing to do. They'd hauled it to the car and once in awhile Garland would put some paper targets on the back wall of the alley and squeeze the trigger oh so gently, letting off a tiny spray of bullets. Never too many...they were hard to come by, and he didn't have a license for the gun anyway (altho all the neighbors knew he had it.) P

as Walter crept in to the shop he was hoping Garland would still be asleep; he would slip the lizard back in its cage and that would be that. br He wasn't tho. and as he saw Walter holding this thing, his hands still a bit bloody, Walter felt afraid. He'd been caught redhanded, as it were. There was no way Garland wouldn't take him to task for this.br "Walter! what the hell are you doing? don't you know that's a very rare and delicate animal? Give me that..." Walter lowered his head, feeling shame burn on his cheeks. It hadn't been his fault the lizard had shed its tail, but now he was getting the blame. Mr.Garland took the iguana from him. "What the hell did you... oh jeez, Walter. you clumsy asshole. Look at this. You made him lose his tail." br Walter was starting to feel just a little bit angry. He didn't deserve this, really he didn't. He'd been trying to help. br Suddenly, as if right on cue he felt feverish and as tho the world was going surreal again. Valtiel. the god was here.br Walter lifted his head and looked around. br The blood on his hands was not the only blood here.p

"Wait a minute... Mr.Garland. what are iyou/i doing?" the place was a horror show. There were dead puppies and kitties and bunnies in a pile. br The machine gun had done this, Walter could see. iGarland/i had done this. br Walter almost regained control, he was so aphalled. "Steve, why?" It was Mr.Garland's turn to look guilty, but the guilt didn't last long, giving way to drunken anger. "why should you give a fuck. you little white trash bastard..." It came to Walter in a flash- the insurance. There was a can of gasoline by the door when he'd come in, and some rags. br Garland was destroying his business for the insurance. br And the animals for his own amusement. br Valtiel found Walter's rage, teased it back up, flared it. br The look he was giving Steve Garland was far from human, and the old drunk must have seen it; he was backing away from Walter.br "you sonuvabitch..." Walter hated people who were cruel to animals. He hated people who were cruel, period...every rotten guard at the Wish House who had tortured him as an orphan child came back to mind, and he saw Steve Garland now as nothing but a way to repay all those debts owed. br Garland ran out to the alley. br Bad move. br Walter moved to the gun as if in a dream, and it seemed almost in slow motion the way the bullets ripped into Garland's flesh, tearing it like wet tissue paper. br Somehow impossibly he seemed to be shooting him accurately and expertly everywhere BUT the chest, and he knew why... he needed Garland's heart, of course. br a litany had come to him, and he remembered it from long ago, something the cult had been chanting about in one of their rituals... iten hearts. ten souls. the ritual of returning.../i br Walter moved across the carnage, drawing out his knife. When he had taken what he wanted he found himself once again tidying up; sewing up the wound, and carving in the numerals that perhaps meant nothing to anyone but himself... font faceProbot04/21/fontP

There was a moment of peace as he surveyed what he had done... and then he heard a door open up the fire escape.br His boss! Mr.Albert from the sports shop. P

It was near dawn, but still too dark to see. Albert saw only Walter there, none of the rest of it. Maybe it was the darkness, yes. Maybe it was the demon somehow clouding his mind too. br "Walter? is that you? what was all that racket out here?"br Walter slowly rose from his crouch, jamming the still warm heart in his pocket. it felt nice in there, wet and warm and very real. Even when he took his hand away he could feel its slight weight in there. br He walked up the metal stairs.br "Coming, boss." P

Walter stepped in through the back of the store and looked around. the surreal crazy feeling had still not left him, and his vision seemed strange. Altho it was dark he could see everything. the walls seemed to pulse with a weird life. It wasn't like the time he'd tried some lousy acid at a friend's urging, tho the visions were simular. He felt alive. He felt powerful. br He felt like the business wasn't finished. br

And Mr.Albert must have been feeling it too, because he seemed uneasy in Walter's presence.br "Walter? something's gone on down there, hasn't it? That old drunkard... he's done something, hasn't he?" Walter shook his head, shrugged. He laughed. He couldn't help it. There was blood on his hands, blood in his hair, even, and here was Mr.Albert, trying to act inormal/i. br "I'm calling the police." Albert said finally. br There was a brief moment of panic, but it faded quickly. Of course, Walter couldn't let him do that...but this area was so secluded. No wonder these stores never got any business. Why...people could commit bmurder/b here, and no one would even see...br Walter watched Albert brush past him, and then he reached out towards the display racks. A golf club seemed to almost leap into his hands. br Before Mr.Albert could pick up the phone, Walter swung the club through the air. It collided soundly with Albert's head, and the man went down.br But Walter wasn't satisified yet or, more precisely, iValtiel/i wasn't satisfied yet. br The club swung down again. br and again. br and again.  
P Walter was back in the subway tunnel a short while later. He had taken the time to shower up in the pet store, carefully clean away all the fingerprints, and of course, do what needed to be done. br He slept soundly and with no remorse at all, and dreamed of his mother. P

b06/21 (pt.1)/bbr As Walter slept an innocent's sleep, the world kept right on going. Of icourse/i the murders hadn't gone unnoticed. Whereas the Wish House had wanted to keep things quiet it had been outsiders, a janitorial crew who were hired to come thru and clean the place twice a month, tho had found Jimmy Stone.br The two students had been found, and their babbling buddy Jasper Gein had been taken into custody. That he claimed his friends had been killed by 'the devil himself' hadn't exactly helped his case.br The cops had had to cut him loose tho, after the two shop owners bodies were found.br It was more than clear now; there was a serial killer on the loose in the Ashfield area. br The police had been hesitant to release any reports on the killer's modus operandi, but a nosy reporter had gotten into the morgue and got a picture of the numbers on Rick Albert's corpse; because of the jagged way Walter had been carving these numbers in, the paper erronoeously reported that the number "05121" had been carved on the man; the slash mark just looked like another 1 to them. br Since neither Rick Albert nor Steve Garland had any other close friends and their stores did a very slow business, no one was there to really remember for the police that the two store owners had a mutual friend; no one there to let them know that Albert had had an under-the-table assistant.br And again, Walter was homeless, Walter was near-to-invisible to almost everyone in Ashfield. not even that many other homeless people who saw him at the soup kitchens knew his name. br He wasn't even a blip on the radar, and so not even a suspect.P

As he didn't know that the city was aware of, in awe even, his wetwork, Walter continued on in his own little world. br Walter knew tho, that not all was well in that world. br He was, it would seem to anyone bothering to notice him, having an argument with the voices in his head. So far, it seemed, the voices were winning.br "Why are you doing this to me?" Walter screamed at valtiel; the subway drowned out the loudness of his voice. iwhy are you yelling at me? lower your voice. people might see you for what you really are- a filthy worthless man incapable of even understanding his place in polite society/i the demon taunted him. ilet's face it, you parasitic little mongrel, you're bnothing/b without me.  
but I can change that.br the ritual, Walter. it's not too late. YOU will be the one. I will make you immortal. I will give you the power to shake worlds, and move the thrones of heaven/i.br "now just why the shit would I want to do that?" Walter hissed bitterly.br ibecause you want to find your bmommy/b/i. the voice replied with surety. 


End file.
